


Step Outside the Box

by lasairfhiona



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasairfhiona/pseuds/lasairfhiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac surprises them all when he does something out of character</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Outside the Box

Mac stared at the sign on the door, _< i>Survivor Support Group</i>_, and wondered how much longer the session would go on.  He'd told Flack he'd be there for him afterward and he knew the meeting had already been in progress for almost an hour.  He and Don were a lot a like and it wasn't in their makeup to willingly open themselves up, let alone in this kind of setting.  He'd been lucky, Claire's death came at a time when everyone worked overtime and they didn't think about making him take time off until months after the fact when things had quieted and everyone came to the conclusion there was nothing left to recover.  Don didn't have that option as both Detective Flack Sr, and Detective Angell Sr both spoke with Don's superior expressing their worry over his depression.  Don of course had fought them every step of the way stating they had open cases and a killer targeting the NYPD to find that he couldn't afford the time off.  He'd only been able to convince Don to go to the meeting by telling the younger detective he'd take time off to meet him afterward so they could talk.  He knew all too well what the younger man was feeling.

"It doesn't help you if you don't go in."

Mac turned toward the voice and found a woman with jet-black hair and blue-green eyes that rivaled Flack's in intensity looking at him from the bench across the hall. "I'm just waiting for a friend," he told her, turning away from her to look back at the door.

"That's what they all say," she challenged.

Mac turned back toward her. "Happens to be the truth. It was suggested a friend attend some counseling sessions after his girlfriend was killed in the line of duty.  I told him I'd pick him up afterward," he stated not giving too many details.  Neither he nor Don needed a grief groupie trying to comfort them.

"You're early then, it's a two hour meeting," she told him with a smile.  "Unless you want to go in," she added.

"No thank you," he answered a little sharper than he'd intended. He didn't understand why people needed to sit around and talk about the death of their loved one and relive it.  The Irish had it right to celebrate the life.  Not that it had been easy for him to do that.  Losing Claire had hurt like hell and even now he still felt the loss, but he tried not to dwell on it no matter how hard it had been for him to move on and remember the good times.  But he was the sort of person who kept things close to the vest so there was no way he could have gone into a group and told his story, but even more so listened to other stories of loss.

"How long ago did your wife die?"

He looked at her and wondered how she guessed. "Eight years ago," he answered offering no other explanation.  It was September and if she was smart she'd figure it out.

"I'm sorry..." she said quietly.

"Shouldn't you be going in?" he asked pointing to the door.  If she could ask about him it was only fair he question about her presence outside the door to the support group. 

"Touche" she said with a smile. "My friend leads the group and I was debating going in and joining, but..."

"Not your scene..."

She laughed, "Yeah...  I'd rather go out with friends and drink a toast to him and remember the good times rather than dwell on the fact he was taken from me and how fucking unfair it was. But it works for some I guess."

Mac nodded.  Yea, he understood perfectly how she felt. He almost wished he'd have had the opportunity to go out and talk about the good times.  But it had been a different time and different circumstances. "How long ago?" Mac asked.

"Five years," she answered.  "You know since we're both waiting, why don't we go grab a coffee at the shop across the street?" she suggested not really wanting to sit around in the hall.

Mac nodded.  "Mac Taylor," he said introducing himself.  "I figured you should know who you were inviting to have coffee with."

"Tara James," she said sticking her hand out for a handshake.

Taking her hand in his, he was surprised by her firm handshake and smiled as she let it linger a moment longer than necessary before pulling away.  He directed her out the doors of the church and toward the street.

"So your friend's girlfriend was killed in the line, does that mean your friend, and you, are both cops too?" she asked as they walked across the street.

She was quick, Mac thought and she paid attention to the throw away comments which made him wonder what she did for a living. "Don is a homicide detective. I'm a crime scene investigator," Mac answered.

"To serve and protect," she said quietly with a little bit of awe in her voice.

"Yes," he said simply, before asking what she did as he pulled the door open to the coffee shop, "And you?"

"Linguistics Professor at Columbia. Among other things, I teach dead and dying languages and occasionally get rooked into teaching English Composition and creative writing classes."

They ordered their coffee and claimed the unoccupied easy chairs in the corner to continue their conversation. "Do I want to ask how many languages you speak?" he asked after taking a sip of his coffee. There was something about her that fascinated him.

"Probably not," she said with a laugh. She tucked her feet under her and cradled her coffee in her hands before adding, "Only three useful languages plus English.  The rest are dead languages that only ubergeek anthropology and archaeology students study."

He couldn't help himself but to laugh at her description. He wondered how many of the dead languages she spoke as well as what other things she taught and if they were for the alphabet soup of the government. He too paid attention to throwaway comments. "How long have you been in New York?" He knew she wasn't a native New Yorker.

"Four years.  I moved down her after Joe was killed.  A position opened up here and I was tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me as if saying his name would break me so I left." 

"I got a lot of that after 9/11 but it was easy not to talk about it because there was so much going on and everyone was on alert. Then we weren't and no one knew what to say.  I have a few good friends who aren't afraid to mention Claire," he explained.

"I don't talk much..."

"I can tell," he interrupted with a laugh, teasing her.

His phone rang cutting off whatever else she was going to say, which might be a good thing. "Damn," he muttered before sitting up straighter and answering, "Taylor." 

 _"Where are you?"_

He cringed, he'd almost forgotten about Don and the meeting and he hadn't checked caller ID before answering, "Coffee shop across the street.  I'll meet you out front," he said shutting his phone.

"Your friend?" she asked

Mac nodded, "Yeah, he sounded..." he didn't know how to explain how Don sounded.  Not good didn't cover it.

"Yeah..." she understood and didn't need him to explain. The first meeting can be hard.  Pulling a card from her bag, she pushed it across the table to him.  "If you ever want to go for coffee, or..." she said with a smile leaving the rest of unfinished and up to him.

Mac took the card and pocketed it while pulling out one to hand to her.  "The same goes," he said before nodding at her and heading out to meet Don who'd just stared walking across the street. 

It had been totally out of character for him to sit and talk to a complete stranger about Claire but it also seemed completely natural.  They hadn't been trying to fix each other; they had just talked and found they had a common viewpoint.  He knew he'd be talking to her again and as he met up with Don he wondered if she would call him before he got a chance to call her.

xoxoxo

Mac looked up when he heard a knock, seeing Stella, her arms laden with take out boxes and a coffee cup he got up and met her half way to take the containers from her hand. "What's this?" he asked as he sat the container on his desk.

"A delivery for you?" 

Raising his eyebrow, he asked, "A delivery?" Removing the slip from the top of the container, saw his name and "NYPD Crime Lab" written on the outside.  Opening the note, he smiled as he began to read the note:

 

 _Coffee. Black. 2 sugars. And pastries._

 _You didn't call and I washed your card..._

 _Did I get your attention?_

 

He burst out laughing when he finished reading.

"Mac?" Stella questioned.

Holding up his hand, he pulled a card out of his pocket and picked up his phone.  Getting her voicemail he left a message, "You definitely got my attention.  Thanks. Same place tonight, an hour earlier?" Thumbing the disconnect button, he saw Stella's confused expression as he sat his phone down.  He knew she had questions, but he didn't have the answers to what he knew she would ask.

"What's going on Mac?" she finally asked.

"I don't know Stella, but I'm going to go with it until I do," he answered knowing it wasn't what she wanted to hear and knowing she would worry because he didn't do things like this.

"Okay..." she said with a nod then added, "This isn't like you so please, be careful," She reached out and squeezed his shoulder before finishing, "be happy," as she turned and walked out leaving him to stand there and shake his head as she went.

 _Be happy_  Stella had told him and the funny thing was he was happy.  The prospect of meeting a woman he'd only met once before made him happier than he'd been in a long time. Maybe he needed to step outside the box more often.


End file.
